


everything stays

by negativeman



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 13:11:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18195032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negativeman/pseuds/negativeman
Summary: You have to keep reminding yourself that you can grow without blooming. You have to keep reminding yourself that you aren't a flower.





	everything stays

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how to use this website i'm very afraid :(
> 
> asriel is depressed and has mean thoughts about himself and other people so look out for that if you don't want to see it
> 
> this is not incest and i do not write these characters as siblings, chara loves the dreemurrs as their foster family but does not see asriel as their brother
> 
> this takes place in a post-game universe where frisk brought flowey to the surface and then found a way to bring both chara and asriel ''back'' too. their ages aren't totally relevant but they are older than frisk

The house you live in is getting-- or maybe it's already gotten-- kind of cramped. It wasn't so bad before, when you were a flower and took up approximately the corner of a desk or the width of a windowsill, but now you are the opposite of anything that could be called 'small', and Chara is here, too.

  
Chara, and Frisk, and Toriel, and Sans, and Papyrus. Slash-Plus Undyne, Alphys, and any other monster Frisk befriended who happen to drop by.

  
When you gripe about this to Chara, and only to Chara, they tell you over their knitting that they do not mind it, so long as their bedroom which is also your bedroom which is also Frisk's bedroom remains a no-trespassing-zone for guests. You know that this isn't true because you know Chara, but you are also aware that Chara is much more subdued than they had been as a child, maybe due to their time with Frisk or maybe due to their age. They're giving 'empathy' a try, you think. More often they make themself small not unlike they did when you were young and they were feeling cornered but to be polite, now, and they grin and bear things that they absolutely would have complained to you about and not the other way around.

  
That your positions have seemingly switched makes you uneasy. But this is probably what they call growth, and it's probably good for them, so you guess it's okay.

  
(You do not look inward and wonder if maybe you've taken too many steps back to start going forward again the way Chara is, because you already know you have.)

  
If things were normal, whatever that is, you would probably be in your own house, and maybe Chara would join you, if they wanted, but neither of you are in any shape to live alone. If things were normal you would probably be preparing to take the throne, too, but instead once a week you tell a therapist that you feel fine, really, while the little Flowey in your head fantasizes about knocking his teeth out.

  
(A monarchy isn't technically needed, now that you're on the surface, but it turns out the monsters want someone additional representing them that isn't an eleven-year-old, as fond as they are of Frisk and their new position of ambassador. So for all of your dad's failings, he's still the king for the foreseeable future.

  
If ever you do, you aren't sure how you could promise to work for the good of your people when you know how each and every one of their faces looked when you, uh, brutally murdered them.

  
But then again your dad did kill six kids and now he tours elementary schools regularly, so. What do you know.)

  
You don't want to be king, anyways. When you were little you worried over how you could possibly fill your dad's metaphorical shoes, but now the responsibility just doesn't appeal. And you should feel bad about that, but... you don't.

  
You wish it made you feel something.

 

 

For the first few months, every emotion was a surprise. Not always a good one: sometimes it was the kind of surprise that was more like opening a present and getting punched in the face with a cartoon boxing glove on a spring, but a surprise nonetheless.

  
You'd felt as Flowey. Anger, annoyance, fear, frustration, maybe something like despair. But even when you feel those things now, it's different. It's almost refreshing.

  
And then there are the more positive emotions, the genuine ones, like when Frisk holds your paw apropos of nothing or Papyrus praises your cooking or your mother says she loves you or Chara laughs at a pun.

  
You still don't like Sans very much.

  
(You suspect the feeling is mutual, but honestly, it's impossible to tell. God, you _really_ hate that guy.)

  
Your feelings towards your dad... are pretty complicated. He's surprisingly fragile, for somebody who was at the head of an ancient war and then worked through the grief of losing his children by tearing down half a dozen toddlers, so you haven't really discussed anything with him that 'eventually needs discussing'. So says your therapist.

  
You understand by now that your mother is complicit in the death of those six children, too, even if it wasn't her bullets that struck them down. Hell, you'd known that as Flowey, and it'd pissed you off then and it pisses you off currently, but it's still easier to forgive her than it is your dad, if forgiveness is this thing you're trying to do. What right do you even have to forgive, in the first place?

  
Your therapist says the responsibility of uniting two kingdoms divided by an unresolved hundred-year-long conflict should never have rested on the shoulders of a child, Asriel. You know that, don't you?

  
(And you think about your father's face, drawn with grief, as he knelt by Chara's bedside and their little body went cold. You remember the way their freckles stood out against their pale, pale skin like red-hot ashes in the air after a fire. You remember seeing their fingers curl into tight fists, crusted with blood, so much of it that the smell hung heavy in the air. You remember _You are the future of humans and monsters!_ )

  
When you tell Chara what your therapist said, you both laugh.

  
But there's still something nice about drinking your dad's tea and watching him garden, about eating your mom's snail pie and listening to her read. You don't think you'll feel safe in their arms ever again, or that you can look at them even slightly the way you used to, but you know-- and this is the biggest surprise of all-- that you still love them.

  
That's its own kind of growth.

  
So says your therapist.

 

 

One evening when Frisk is out spending the night at Monster Kid's house, Chara crawls into bed with you.

  
"Move over," they say, and even though you fill the full-sized bed that lies below Frisk's twin-sized top bunk, you do. Chara had actually turned in before you; for the past thirty minutes you've been playing one of Frisk's handheld games in the dark, so either they were awake the entire time or you woke them up, somehow.

  
"Are you okay?" you ask.

  
"Fine." they say, and you lay there together, on your sides facing each other. Chara is watching you, staring in that unblinking way they do, and you shift. You open your mouth to ask if they're sure, because you don't think you can sleep when they're looking at you like that, but they get there first.

  
"Can I ask you something," they say, "About before."

  
You're used to the way Chara talks, halting and flat. They struggle with intonation to begin with and their words don't quite drop off the way they should when they ask questions. But under what seems like normal for them, you can tell this is a topic that makes them nervous. They don't mean before-before.

  
You want to say no, because you're tired and you _don't_ , but you haven't really breached anything with Chara, either. Because... because even though you need to with them maybe more than anyone else (so says your therapist, and also, common sense) they're as much a time bomb as you are.

  
There's solidarity in that. Neither of you had pushed the other to make the first move.

  
Apparently the truce is over.

  
"Sure," you say.

  
Idiot, says the little Flowey that lives in your head.

  
Now Chara isn't looking at you, and is biting their bottom lip, worrying a scab there with their teeth. You wait. If they change their mind and decide you're better off leaving it unsaid after all, bully for you.

  
Instead, they ask, "Did you mean it?" and then clarify, "Not the-- ridiculous super villain monologue. Everything else. Did you mean it."

  
You genuinely consider saying actually, Chara, everything from then's fuzzy, sorry, so I couldn't say, and please don't jog my memory because I'm happier living in the dark.

  
"You mean the super embarrassing stuff," is what you end up replying, grimly.

  
"Right. But I would argue the monologuing falls under 'super embarrassing', too."

  
That's fair. You would say as much, but you go quiet, feel yourself beginning to blush under your fur, across your nose. It was bound to come up, but so soon?

  
"Well," you start, because you aren't sure which answer Chara wants to hear. This is a position you find yourself in a lot, lately, afraid that if you say the wrong thing you'll lose all that you'd just gotten back. You thought you'd had it figured out-- like, your mom wanted the son she lost, Papyrus wanted the friend he thought he had-- but playing pretend is harder than you thought it would be.

  
(You're pretty sure it shows, because you're not kind enough to be the prince death hadn't yet touched or cruel enough to be the flower who knew too much of it.

  
Try as you might, you continue to be yourself. An Asriel somewhere in the middle, not even sure what the expectations his loved ones have for him are but failing to meet them anyways.)

  
When the silence continues, Chara raises an eyebrow.

  
"Well," they echo, and then, "Welly well well." in an imitation of everyone's favorite monster idol.

  
Oh, damn it. Your mouth twitches into a smile despite yourself, and you're helpless when you spot Chara grinning.

  
"You did that on purpose," you accuse.

  
Their hands come up to frame and fan their face, and they wiggle their fingers. "Golly, your majesty, you think?"

  
And you laugh, turn and bury your face in your pillow. Your nose is hot. "It doesn't matter what I said, because I'm taking it all back right now!"

  
"Oh?"

  
"Starting tomorrow, I'm holding auditions for a new best friend, too."

  
"If I may offer a recommendation, Rudolph, Kris Kringle could use your help pulling his sleigh-- oof," Chara says, when you throw your pillow at them.

  
(The reference is not lost on you, because you've heard it before.)

  
"Whatever the _opposite_ of a best friend is--"

  
"Worst enemy," Chara supplies.

  
"Yeah! That's it."

  
They tap their chin, mock-thoughtful. You are suddenly very aware that your back is up against the literal wall, and despite Chara's size, they pose a significant threat to your only escape route. "You do know what they say about enemies," they finally pipe up.

  
"... Nooo..."

  
"Keep them closer than your friends," Chara says, and then they're tickling you, and you knew this was coming, you knew it, you yelp and flail and try not to actually throw Chara off your bed in the process.

  
You roll over to tussle with them, which is absolutely not fair now that you're three feet taller, but they forfeited fair play when they tickled you.

  
(They manage to give you a run for your money anyways. They've always been crafty.)

  
You end up lying side-by-side again, both of you panting, Chara's arm flung across your chest. When you've caught your breath, before you can convince yourself not to, you say, "I did," and then, "um, mean it."

  
You don't look at them, and they don't move. You can hear their breathing going quieter, and you imagine their human heartbeat slowing down again, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump.

  
Meanwhile, your SOUL may as well have just run a marathon across the entire underground.

  
You sneak a sidelong glance at them because you're not as patient as you used to be and find their expression carefully blank; like Frisk, their resting face rarely gives away anything that they're feeling, but while Frisk's is truly neutral, Chara's always-- sort of looks like they're remembering a particularly mean joke their conversation partner isn't in on.

  
Then they giggle, and you wilt.

  
"Chara," you complain.

  
"I'm not laughing at you," they say, which you're inclined to believe only because if they were laughing at you they'd happily tell you so. "... I had the thought that I missed you. But that doesn't make any sense, does it? I was worm food." they turn their eyes on you, then, that mottled pink-red you know so well that you don't need any light to see it.

  
You swallow. They're still looking.

  
"If it hurts this much now," they say, hushed, "then I cannot imagine what it was like for you."

  
You hear yourself say "It's okay," even though it's not. Those two words are a well-worn part of your vocabulary, an old, knee-jerk deflection so comfortable in your mouth they might as well be breathing.

  
Chara's brows furrow, and their nose wrinkles like it does when they're close to losing their (extraordinarily minute amount of) patience.

  
But remarkably, they don't.

  
"You said that you called for me," they say.

  
"I did." you repeat.

  
They turn onto their side and another arm comes to rest on your chest, this time holding, and scarred fingers curl in the front of your t-shirt and grip tight.

  
Your paw comes up to rest over it, and neither of you say anything else.

 

 

You have to keep reminding yourself that you can grow without blooming. You have to keep reminding yourself that you aren't a flower.

  
Your therapist says it probably won't look the way you expect it to. Recovery is you learning how to live with you, no matter how ugly and irredeemable. You can't take everything back from him and leave him with nothing-- you have to build a home for your anger and your naivete both, and join them in the garden of this new person you're becoming.

  
Resetting gave you more fresh starts than there are stars in the sky; Frisk went underground again to give you a real second chance, a second chance that meant something.

  
Now it's your turn.


End file.
